


Officially a Daddy

by mayathepapaya



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Gen, Hamish Watson-Holmes - Freeform, Parent!lock, Parentlock, Sherlock Holmes - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-29
Updated: 2013-03-29
Packaged: 2017-12-06 20:32:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayathepapaya/pseuds/mayathepapaya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John goes out for the night, leaving Sherlock to look after little Hamish, which turns out far better than Sherlock could have imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Officially a Daddy

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is my first time ever posting a fanfic... ever. Long time reader, long time writer, first time poster. Hope you enjoy! :)

Sherlock leaned back perilously in his chair. His eyes were gazing lazily up at the ceiling and his mind was whirring with thought. The flat was completely silent, the way he liked it. John had gone out an hour ago with Stamford or Lestrade or someone. Sherlock didn't really know, nor did he care. He knew John needed a night out, doing something; he hadn't really done anything for himself since they'd adopted Hamish about a month ago.

The six-year-old boy had wandered upstairs to his room once John had left. Sherlock hadn't really noticed except to tell him to come downstairs if he needed anything. He was busy right now, on a case: a triple-homicide with the killer at large, and he needed the thinking time to himself. He needed to ponder over everything, retrace his steps through the crime scene, agonize every minute detail he could recall, which was all of them. He pressed his fingertips together, balancing his chin on them, and closed his eyes. 

"Sherlock?" He was startled by the small, quiet voice of his son. 

"Hmm?" Sherlock mumbled, opening his eyes and turning to look at the small child. 

He was standing in the entrance to the sitting room, brown hair messy and tangled, with a nervous expression on his face and uncertainty in his dark eyes. He had changed into his pyjamas and had his small, blue quilt clutched in one small hand. "Sherlock?" he said again quietly, stepping forward slightly and training his eyes on the ground. 

Sherlock uncrossed his legs, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees with his hands folded. "Yes?" he said quietly, matching the boy's soft tone. He looked at the small child carefully, but the boy avoided his gaze, clearly uneasy. He didn't answer him, merely stepped closer. 

"What is it?" Sherlock was concerned now. The boy was usually quiet and soft-spoken, but he wasn't ever so timid or uncertain. He reached a hand out to the child as he stepped closer, placing a hand on his shoulder to guide him nearer. 

"I..." Hamish started timidly, looking up at his dad. "My... my head hurts," he finally admitted softly, looking worried. 

Sherlock bit his lip nervously, anxiety immediately twisting in his stomach. He didn't know what to do. What did one do for headaches? For headaches in children? He had no idea. John was the doctor, not him.

"Oh," he finally said pathetically in a quiet voice, pulling Hamish closer to him. He knew Hamish enjoyed being held, he wanted the close contact. In his old home, he'd certainly never had anyone hug him. The child surrendered his grip on his blue quilt to wrap his arms around Sherlock, pressing his face to his chest as if he was trying to hide.

Sherlock gently stroked his back with one hand, still feeling uncertain. With his other hand he picked the quilt and he draped it on the boy's shoulders. Keeping him warm would help with a headache, right? He lifted Hamish up onto his lap, the boy keeping himself pressed as close to Sherlock as he could. Sherlock smiled slightly at that despite himself. It still amazed him that the small boy trusted him so much and that he wanted to be so close to him. Certainly nobody else ever did, besides John. It made him feel... well, nice. It was nice to be wanted.

"Do... do you want something to drink?" Sherlock offered quietly. "Some... some water?" 

Hamish considered this for a moment before nodding into Sherlock's chest. He slid off his lap a moment later onto the couch. Sherlock fixed the quilt around him with a gentle smile before standing. "I'll just be a moment," he promised before heading to the kitchen.

The moment he was out of the boy's sight, he texted John. _Hamish has a headache. What do I do? SH_

 _Get him to sleep. Need me to come home?_ John replied nearly immediately.

Sherlock considered. He knew if he said yes John would come home in an instant and he would take care of Hamish, something Sherlock doubted he could do himself. But he knew that John needed a night to himself. Sherlock was so unsure of himself and his abilities to look after the child. He knew it wasn't fair to John. He swallowed and sighed resolutely before replying, _No. I can handle it. SH._

He set his mobile on the counter before filling a cup half-full of water for Hamish and bringing it back to the sitting room. The child was curled up in the corner of the couch, covered with the quilt. Sherlock sat back down on the couch and Hamish crawled back onto his lap immediately. A smile unconsciously curled on Sherlock's lips again as he offered his son the glass.

"Thank you," Hamish said quietly, grasping it in a small hand and taking tiny sips. Sherlock had his hand gently stroking the boy's back again, eyes watching him as he finished the water. He took the empty glass from Hamish before pulling the quilt around him once more. 

Hamish let out a long sigh, closing his eyes and resting his temple on Sherlock's chest. "Just relax, okay?" Sherlock said quietly to the boy, wrapping his arms around him and pulling him close. "It's okay. You can just sleep right here." 

Hamish curled up in Sherlock's lap, shifting and leaning against him completely. He opened his eyes and looked up at Sherlock with tired eyes. "Thank you," he said again quietly. Sherlock nodded in response with a small smile. The little boy looked hesitant for a moment before adding in a nearly inaudible whisper, "Daddy. Thank you, daddy." 

Sherlock's cheeks immediately flushed bright pink. In the month that Hamish had been with them, he'd simply called them by their first names, which they both agreed was fine. Never had Sherlock ever expected the little boy to call either of them, much less himself, his father. He couldn't control the wide smile that crossed his face. "You're welcome," he finally choked out softly in reply. Hamish smiled slightly before closing his eyes and resting his head agianst Sherlock's chest once more. 

Sherlock kept grinning stupidly to himself. It was such a small, silly thing, really. Logically, it was completely insignificant. But it meant so much to him. Daddy. Hamish had called him not his father, not his dad, but his daddy. He couldn't express the strange, warm, happy feeling that that gave him. He shook his head to himself, still grinning like a maniac as he hugged Hamish even closer. The boy snuggled against Sherlock, letting out a content breath.

Sherlock stroked the boy's back with one hand again, hoping to gently relax him into sleep. The boy's warm weight against him was immensely comforting and pleasing, keeping the warm, happy feeling in him. He was still smiling. Daddy. He was a daddy now, _officially._ It was something he'd certainly never imagined himself being, and yet it gave him an indescribable swell of happiness. 

It was about ten minutes later that Hamish fell asleep, relaxing completely and his breaths becoming long and even. Sherlock looked down on his son with a small smile, and after a moment of indecision he audaciously pressed a quick kiss to the top of his head. He kept his arms tight around his son, smiling slightly to himself and feeling completely content. He'd managed to look after the boy without John's help and... he'd called him his daddy. There was no way that Sherlock would have rather spent his evening.

It was after midnight when John came home, quietly closing the door behind him and hanging his coat on the hook. The flat was quiet, and he did his best to keep it that way as he silently climbed the steps. He entered the sitting room, expecting to find it empty, but was surprised to find Sherlock fast asleep on the couch with Hamish sleeping and curled up in his lap, both of them with small, happy smiles on their faces.


End file.
